


Phantom

by ebbj9891



Series: In Quest Of Something [69]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Estrangement, Family Issues, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Married Couple, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 13:14:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4836683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebbj9891/pseuds/ebbj9891
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After receiving a disturbing call from his estranged sister, Brian is left reeling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phantom

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry for how little I've been updating recently. Life has been horribly hectic, to say the very least! I just want to say that I am so grateful for the lovely feedback that I've been receiving. Your comments and kudos are so appreciated - they encourage and inspire me, and to be honest, they help to keep me moving forward. So thank you :)
> 
> Now, I should probably reward all of my amazing readers with something lovely and fluffy... alas, that's not where my muses took me. Be warned, this is an angsty one. FYI, it takes place two years or so after Refuge. I've updated the timeline, which will hopefully be helpful with navigating the chronology of this (terrifyingly long) series: http://elissabens.tumblr.com/post/119073425195/in-quest-of-something-specific-chronology

“Your sister is on line one.”

Cynthia’s announcement is preceded by the door clicking shut and punctuated by her sighing softly. Brian looks up from the paperwork spread out in front of him and frowns.

“Normally,” Cynthia explains, “I wouldn’t even consider coming to you with this… but she sounds different.”

“Different how?”

“Quieter. Nicer.”

“‘Nicer’,” Brian echoes with a scoff. He shakes his head and returns to the paperwork. “Tell her to call back… never. Yeah, never should do it.”

He stares stubbornly at the renewal contracts from Lundsco, hoping that Cynthia will get the message and leave. It’s a mystery to him why she’s lingering there by the door. In his peripheral, he glimpses her hands wrung together. That anxious motion is soon paired with another anomaly; Cynthia takes a step towards him and calls his name pleadingly.

“Brian…”

“Yes?”

“I really think you should take the call.”

He doesn’t look up - he refuses to. Brian grabs a pen, stabs it to the page, and angrily carves in his signature, his initials, and the date. “You know why I’m not taking the call.”

“I know.” Cynthia sighs again. “And I’m sorry to push you on this… I really am. But I have this feeling-”

“What ‘feeling’?” Brian glances up and pins her with his gaze. “What ‘feeling’ could possibly justify me taking that call? You know what she’s like-!”

As soon as he raises his voice, Cynthia snaps back to her usual self. She marches towards him and asserts, “I know that she’s begging to talk to you! I know that she called me by my name and asked me how I am. I know that she waited for me to stop talking before she said anything.”

“So she’s grown a sense of decorum - good for her! I don’t see why-”

“I know that she sounds like she’s talking through a mouthful of gauze and blood.” Cynthia comes to an abrupt halt in front of Brian’s desk. As he feels his stomach drop, she grabs the phone and shoves it at him. “And I know that we’ve worked together long enough for me to have earned the right to do this. Take the call, Brian.”

Brian stares at her, then at the blinking green light next to line one. “What, do you think she’s…?”

“Hurt? Yeah, I think she’s hurt. I think maybe her piece of shit husband or ex-husband or whatever the hell they are these days - I think he did something.”

“Fucking hell.”

“Yeah, fucking hell. Look… I don’t like Claire. I never have. But I have a gut feeling about this and it’s not fucking good.” Cynthia poises her finger over the button for line one. “This once. Just this once, please. If I’m wrong, I’ll owe you forever.”

“Can I get that in writing?” Brian picks the handset up and bats her hand away. “Go on, shoo.”

She visibly caves with relief. “Thank you. I’m going to go grab us some lunch, okay? My treat.”

Brian nods and forces a small smile at her. He waits until she’s left before he hits the button to take the call. As the flashing green light turns solid, he wonders why he’s doing this. He trusts Cynthia’s gut, of course, he always has… but there’s something else to this that makes him feel at odds with himself.

“Claire?”

“Brian?”

The second she says his name, Brian places the feeling. There’s a sense of protectiveness swelling within him; it feels childlike, like something dredged up from deep within. How long has it been since he had to protect Claire? Since he wanted to?

“It’s nice to hear your voice,” she says, and now he hears what Cynthia was talking about. Claire’s voice is warped, as though she’s hurt and trying to talk around blood and bruises. It makes an awful sound - one so distracting that Brian barely has a moment to consider what she’s just said. He only manages to steal a second to wonder, bitterly, whether she means it or whether she’s merely manipulating him.

“I didn’t expect to hear from you,” he says.

After an uneasy stretch of quiet, Claire concedes, “It’s been a while.”

Two or so years, by Brian’s count. They haven’t spoken since their mother’s impromptu visit to New York and the radio silence has been truly blessed.

“So why call now?” Brian stares at the caller ID, at the numbers strung together. Strange, how that’s the most he’s seen of his sister in, what? A decade?

“I need some help.” Claire swallows and then releases a garbled sigh. “I’m sorry to ask-”

Brian almost cuts in to challenge: _Are you?_ But then he remembers Cynthia’s concerns and bites his tongue.

“-but there’s nowhere else for me to turn.”

Desperation is twisted through her every word. Brian rests his head in his free hand and asks quietly, “What happened?”

“There was an incident. My… I need…”

‘An incident’. Such choice phrasing! Brian’s stomach turns as he recalls their mother using that phrase ad nauseum during their childhood to describe all manner of sins. Split lips, sprains, black eyes…

Only now, Jack Kinney isn’t the culprit. Brian envisages his father for a split second, but then he rejects that image and tries to conjure one of Claire’s ex-husband. Are they back together again? Brian stopped keeping track long ago, though he does wonder what might have happened in the years since he last saw Claire.

For a moment, he almost laughs - he’s reminded of a night at Woody’s, years and years ago, when someone (was it Ted?) described Brian’s relationship with Justin as ‘on-again/off-again’. He didn’t say anything at the time, but he remembers laughing inwardly and taking some grim satisfaction in how stable his then-‘thing’ with Justin seemed compared to Claire’s rocky relationship with her ex-husband.

But then he hears how Claire is breathing down the phone - it sounds laboured, scarily so. That strange swell of protectiveness hits Brian again and he demands, “Did he hurt you?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It _is_ that simple. Did he hurt you?”

“I need dental work.”

“Did you call the cops?!”

“It doesn’t work that way. I… the bill is way too much… the boys can’t possibly afford to help, mom won’t help…”

“You want this conversation to continue? Don’t mention any of them to me.”

“Okay.” Claire swallows again and then resumes her strained breathing. “Okay.”

Brian almost feels bad for barking at her; she actually sounds scared. He winces as he recalls how their mother used to act after ‘an incident’ - all nervous, as though everything were a threat.

He can’t say he loves his sister. He never even really liked her, except perhaps for brief spells when they were very young. But despite all that, he doesn’t want her to think of him as a threat.

He doesn’t want to be the beast looming over her.

“How much is it?”

“A lot.”

“Give me a number. I’ll send a cheque.”

“Oh, Brian…” Claire heaves a sigh. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

That stops Brian in his tracks. This isn’t one of those simpering, sugary types of thank yous that he remembers his mother using. Claire actually sounds grateful.

“How much? And where do I send it?”

“Fourteen hundred dollars. I need you to send it to my friend’s house - Lilly Lyle, L-I-L-L-Y  L-Y-L-E, at 136 Manning Street. Address it to me, care of Lilly.”

Brian suppresses a sigh and reaches to open his bottom desk drawer. He pulls out his personal cheque-book and starts writing. “And why am I sending this to Lilly?”

“It’ll be safe there.”

“‘Safe’…” Brian stares at the slip in front of him, at the numbers he’s just inked onto the paper. “Claire.”

“Yes?”

“If you’re not safe with him, why stay?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“You’re right. I wouldn’t. He’s a useless sack of shit, he always has been, so why do you-”

“He’s the father of my children!”

“Your grown up children,” Brian retorts. He just manages to stop himself from adding: _your useless sack of shit children._ “You’re not even married to the fucker!”

He listens in bewilderment as Claire starts bleating about how the divorce was a mistake, how they’re still wed ‘under God’s eyes’, and how she owes it to the family to sustain the so-called ‘marriage’. It’s almost laughable… at least, it would be, if it weren’t so fucking sad.

“He’s my husband, he-”

“He hurt you! I’m guessing he beat the goddamned shit out of you, since you sound like hell and you’re begging me to send you almost fifteen hundred dollars for dental work!”

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” she cries. With a sob, she accuses, “You have no idea what it takes to make a marriage work.”

“Fuck you,” Brian spits. “I’m married - I have been for seven years! I’ve never hit my husband and he’s never hit me.”

“Give it time.” Claire sniffs and sobs. “Give it as long as I’ve had. Seven years is easy… seven years is _nothing.”_

Brian’s gaze gravitates to the photo of Justin and Gus that sits next to his computer monitor. As Justin smiles back at him, he murmurs, “You don’t have to put up with what she did.”

“I thought we weren’t mentioning mom.”

“We aren’t.”

“Whatever. It’s not as bad as that, anyway.”

“Is that good enough for you?”

“It’ll have to be. I… I have faith that it will be.”

He cringes at the resignation in her voice. It doesn’t sound like faith at all. It’s enough to make him blurt out, “I’ll put this in today’s mail.”

“Thank you,” Claire says. Her voice trembles a little as she adds, “I’m glad… if things are different for you. I always worried that you’d end up like-”

“Don’t say it,” Brian orders abruptly. “Just don’t.”

“Sorry.” She sighs and murmurs, “Take care, Bri.”

Brian starts to say ‘you too’, but then the line goes dead. He stares at the green light as it fades away. The numbers disappear from the screen.

Mechanically, he slips the cheque into an envelope and addresses it. Then he walks it to the mailroom and hands it to Ben himself.

“Make sure that goes out today,” he says, and that’s that.

That’s all that can be done. He doesn’t give it any further thought.

*

It begins with screaming, coming from the shadows, flowing through corridors, slamming up against windows. The screaming fills the house until there’s nothing but that awful, tortured sound.

Brian follows the sound. He leaves his spot by the window, strays from the light, moves through the corridors, and becomes ensconced in shadow. And there they are - Jack and Joan, like two caged beasts, facing off and preparing for a fight to the death. The screaming surrounds them; it seems to be coming from them and yet it also seems removed from them, as though it’s a force in and of itself.

Brian raises his hands and tries to cover his ears, but then he stops. His parents are no longer there - it’s Claire and her husband. He’s faceless, a shadow, moving to strike… Brian tries to intervene. He moves in between them, raises his own fist, and then strikes.

It hits Claire square in the mouth. She flails backwards and then crashes to the floor. Her lip splits wide open and spills blood everywhere.

Brian staggers backwards. The shadows grab at him as he watches blood pool through her hair, crimson staining gold…

… gold?

“No,” he screams. “No, no, no…”

Justin lies crumpled on the floor, his face bruised, his lip gushing blood, his body tangled into some inhuman shape. Brian can’t stop screaming. The shadows surround them, and everything turns black.

*

“Brian! Wake up!”

Brian bolts upright, choking for breath. His legs are trapped by twisted bedding. As he wrenches them free, he feels the sting of sweat in his eyes. He’s covered in it, dripping from head to toe-

“Hey,” Justin says urgently, “Are you okay? What happened?”

“Nothing,” Brian lies. He jumps out of bed and heads for the bathroom. “It’s nothing, I’m fine.”

“But-”

He slams the door shut and sags against it. The image of Justin beaten and broken is still burned into his mind. Brian swallows to stop the bile that’s rising in his throat and then slides to the floor.

As he sits there, trying to collect himself, he hears Justin approaching the door. There’s a gentle knock, and then: “Bri? Are you alright?”

“Fine,” he lies again. “Go back to bed.”

“You were… you were twisting and turning for ages. You kept saying ‘no’, ‘don’t’…”

“I’m fine. It was nothing.”

“Okay…” Justin doesn’t sound so sure. He sighs and then moves away from the door.

Now left in silence, Brian stares into nothingness and tries to rid himself of the image of Justin all bruised and bloodied. But no matter how hard he tries, it won’t go.

He doesn’t know how long he stays there, staring into space and willing the nightmare away. He only manages to pull himself up off the floor when Justin calls out to him again. Brian heads over to the basin and fills it with hot water. He rinses the sweat from his face and dries it with the first towel he can lay hands on. Then, while forcing his struggling limbs to cooperate, he drags himself out of the bathroom and back to bed.

Justin is sitting up waiting for him, but Brian ignores that and heads straight for his side of the bed. He lies down and turns his back to Justin. “It was nothing. Go to sleep.”

“I’ve never seen you that distressed by a nightmare before. Was it prom? Or Babylon?”

“No.”

The mattress dips as Justin eases over to Brian’s side. He touches Brian’s arm and kisses his shoulder. “Then what were you dreaming about?”

“I already told you - it was nothing. Leave it alone.”

“But-”

“Seriously, just drop it.”

He feels like shit when Justin moves away. Again, the image hits him. It’s not alone - it comes with Claire’s words echoing alongside: _I always worried that you’d end up like-_

Him. Their father. Jack Kinney.

The bile begins to rise in Brian’s throat again - it creeps and crawls upwards, burning and leaving behind an awful taste.

“Brian?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re shaking.” Justin touches his arm again and squeezes it. “Can we please talk about it? You’re scaring me.”

Brian doesn’t respond. He tries to dispel the brutal imagery but it refuses to go.

“I wish you would tell me,” Justin continues. He sounds so lost - it makes Brian’s chest ache. “Was it… was it something I did? You said my name a few times. I mean, if it wasn’t prom or Babylon… then…”

“Justin,” Brian pleads. “Leave it.”

“Did I do something to hurt you? Did I… leave? Or was I with someone else?”

Those theories make Brian feel sick with guilt. That Justin thinks he’s the one who’s inflicted pain is unbearable. Brian can’t let him think like that - he rolls onto his back and gazes up at Justin. “It’s not anything like that. I know you wouldn’t.”

As soon as he says it, he feels a comforting flood of faith. He has faith that Justin won’t stray, nor will be abandon him. Brian suspects that his faith is different to his sister’s, but it’s there and that’s what matters. 

Speaking of which.

Brian looks at Justin and feels a swell of faith in himself. He wouldn’t hurt him. He couldn’t do it. There’s no way that he could ever do what that nightmarish version of himself did.

“It was nothing,” he says again, because really, it was. It was only ever a phantom, conjured from that awful conversation with Claire.

Justin reaches out to him and strokes his cheek. “You’re sure?”

Brian grabs Justin’s hand and holds it tenderly. “I’m sure.”

“You’re still shaking,” Justin notes, and it’s only then that Brian realises it.

He’s trembling, his limbs are still weary, he’s still slick with sweat all over. There’s still a knot in his stomach the size of his fist.

The fist that flew and smashed into Justin’s face.

_This is the house that Jack built._

Brian shifts closer to Justin and pools into his waiting arms. He rests his head on Justin’s shoulder and presses his lips to Justin’s soft skin. As he closes his eyes, Justin’s hands slide into his hair in a sweet caress.

After a long while, Justin asks, “Do you feel better now?”

Brian pauses to consider. The shaking has stopped and the knot in his stomach has diminished. That image of Justin is still burned into his mind, but it’s less vivid. The phantom is receding back into the shadows.

He could simply let it. He could lie here, safely kept in Justin’s arms, and let all of it fade away. Only… would that really be right? Aren’t things different now? They talk about this stuff now. At least, Brian tries to. It’s never easy. Tonight is certainly no exception.

But he doesn’t want to take the easy path. He doesn’t want to hide these things from Justin.

“Claire got married young,” he says. “It was a mistake. I always thought that was obvious, but apparently she’s still figuring it out.”

And then he tells Justin the rest of it: all that he knows of Claire’s miserable marriage - the joyless early years, the horrific divorce, the messy reunions and splits. He explains the phone call and the cheque. He admits that he doesn’t know what else can be done, or should be done, or whether Claire can ever be helped. He confesses that there is a part of him that wonders if this is all some twisted manipulation; if she and Joan cooked up this scheme together. Then he stops, thinks, and concedes that that’s not it. That’s not it at all. Cynthia’s gut was right. Claire was hurt. Claire needed help. And so he gave it, even though his sister is really no kind of sister at all. He gave it, even though it probably won’t make any goddamned difference. Claire may have the funds to fix whatever was done to her, but Brian knows there are wounds that run much deeper. He can’t help with those. 

All the while, Justin holds him close and strokes his hair. He only stops when Brian explains the nightmare.

Brian feels it instantly. He feels Justin freeze right up; his body tenses and his hand stills. It’s jarring, but Brian forces himself to keep going. He doesn’t stop until he’s confessed to the whole hideous thing.

“Brian,” Justin says, “That’s awful.”

“I know.”

“But you would never-”

“Yeah. Still, though.”

Still, that doesn’t take away that image. It remains imprinted in his mind.

Justin sighs and leans down to kiss Brian’s temple. His hands slip down to stroke Brian’s chest as he says, “I never feel safer than when I’m with you.”

Brian tilts his head and gazes up at Justin. Justin smiles down at him as he muses, “It always reminds me of when I woke up in the hospital.”

“Being with me reminds you of waking up in the hospital?” Brian scoffs and drawls, “Oh, joy.”

“Shut up,” Justin chuckles. He swats Brian lightly. “What I mean is that when I woke up in the hospital, I was terrified. I was alone, covered in bandages, surrounded by machines…  everything hurt and I couldn’t remember a goddamned thing. It was insanely frightening. I didn’t - couldn’t - trust anybody, I didn’t want anyone touching me…”

“I remember,” Brian says softly. It’s then that it hits him: the nightmare version of Justin, the Justin that he struck, looked so much like the boy who was left crumpled and bleeding on the asphalt that night. Brian cringes and curls closer to Justin, who leans down again to press another kiss to his cheek.

“You saved me,” Justin murmurs. “You looked after me, you re-attuned me to touch. You made me feel safe again. And now, after all these years, it’s evolved to the point where being with you is the polar opposite of that first day in the hospital. That day was pure terror… you, you’re safety and certainty.”

He exhales and grasps Brian’s shoulders, then manoeuvres the both of them until they’re repositioned. Brian closes his eyes as Justin curls up around him. He takes a deep breath and enjoys the sensation of Justin’s heart thumping against his back.

Once again, and very firmly, Justin says, “I never feel safer than when I’m with you.”

“Same,” Brian admits in a whisper. He sighs as Justin hugs him closer.

“Let’s get some sleep,” Justin urges.

“Yeah.”

As Justin whispers a sweet ‘good night’, Brian buries his face in the crook of Justin’s arm and breathes in his husband’s deeply familiar scent. He bids goodbye to the image, to the phantom, to the shadows. They have no place here. They simply don’t belong. 

This, where he is right now, tenderly kept in Justin’s arms - this is safe, this is certain. This is all he needs. This is where he belongs.

**The End**


End file.
